


Legacy

by tastelesscreature



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Body Horror, Character Death, Click if you think T-Veronica carriers' flammable bodily fluids isn't restricted to blood, F/M, Gore, Incest, Mental Instability, Mpreg, Oviposition, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:06:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27020191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastelesscreature/pseuds/tastelesscreature
Summary: With Alexia finally awake, the Ashford twins utilize T-Veronica to restore their family name (in more ways than one).
Relationships: Alexia Ashford/Alfred Ashford
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	Legacy

They had conceived.

The ovum had been fertilized from their previous sessions. Now it was time to be transferred to continue gestation. He volunteered to be the new host of course. He wouldn't even consider diluting their blood by outsourcing a surrogate, as their father had done. Securing their lineage should be their responsibility and theirs alone.

Now they were here, bare to each other. The bedroom only illuminated by the moon peeking through the window. Her naked form standing over him, like the day she awoke from stasis. She reached down to caress his chest, gliding her hand down his torso as if inspecting him. For a moment he worried she might be having second thoughts, doubting his capability for the task. Then she began to lean in, parting her lips and he opened his own in response. He lied back onto the bed with her mouth in his, tasting her as they changed positions. Running his fingers through her hair as he cupped the back of her head. The weight of her body on his. Just as his nether regions started to ache for her, she broke away to sit up and he was caught between deciding if he needed air or her more.

"Observe, brother."

The moment that sentence departed her lips, she burst into flames. He instinctively backed away as he watched the streaks of fire dance across her body. She only smiled, drinking his shock like a goddess demonstrating their power before a mortal. Flames licked away at her figure, replacing porcelain skin with gray-green chitin. Burnt silk filled his nostrils as the flaring transformation traveled down her legs, warping the sheets beneath her. Her silk hair was dominated by a crown of flames. The display of her metamorphosis was only amplified by the dark room as the fire enveloping her body dwarfed the moon as a light source. He could only sit back in awe of Veronica's power.

Once the flames died down, she beckoned him over once more and he did so eagerly, admiring her. Her beauty superseded her previous form, like a butterfly after pupation. Her golden eyes veered down and he followed her gaze when she started spreading her thighs. What first appeared to be a remnant of her human anatomy was revealed to be a sheath as something emerged from between the folds with a soft squelch. It reminded him of the insects they used to study in youth, with its wet hide and wriggling motion. Given its location and resemblance, it wasn't hard to figure out what role this new organ served.

"Turn over." She commanded. He obeyed, getting on hands and knees. He waits, mentally preparing himself for what was to come while hearing and feeling part of the mattress behind him creak and dip as she moved into position. He was brought out of his staring contest with the pillows by hands suddenly grasping his hips. He feels the tip, hot and wet, brushing against him and braces for its entrance.

It pushes in and he feels every inch as it does, the ring of muscles being stretched by its intrusion. The oviduct swelled as it delved deeper into him, scraping along the walls that were trying to adapt to its new size. He gritted his teeth and remained still for her. All the anticipation he mustered hadn't readied him for the actual transition. For the way it ravaged his body as it drove further into him. He would endure. He would endure for her.

Her secretions burned, like melted wax, searing the sensitive tissue and any wounds that should have bled under different circumstances. Not much time had passed since she penetrated but the pain made it drag on. His only frame of reference was realizing how white his knuckles had become from clenching the sheets. It's expanded to the point that he could feel it pulsing against his insides, completely embedded. A new surge of pain blossomed and he squeezed his eyes shut at what felt like a piece of coal being pressed against his prostate. He thought it was her girth burrowing again but it remained stationary while the lump advanced. The Egg.

With the lay complete, she tightened her grip on his hips as she began to retract. His body goes lax with relief when he realized she was pulling out. Though it doesn't come out any easier than it went in; brushing against the burns and scrapes as it exits, leaving him gaping and sore. Finally detached from her, he collapsed onto the mattress, adjusting to the pain and exhaustion that neither was ebbing away. The egg she deposited was pushing further inside, having yet to reach its destination. Alexia lied down next to him. Even in her new form, he could easily read her expressions. She was pleased, lips curled into a satisfied smile. He looked down to find that the appendage that was piercing him moments ago had shrank back into nonexistence. She curled an arm around him while stroking his hair with the other, praising him for his assistance. In her embrace, fatigue outweighs discomfort and he drifts off.

* * *

The egg had finally settled into his lower stomach as an uncomfortable weight. It didn't hurt per say, the self-conscious awareness of it bothered him more than the egg itself. That would change in the coming weeks as it grew, as would he. The nausea, the fever, the gradual tightening in the waist of his uniform.

If the servants noticed, they haven't said anything. If they like breathing, they won't. They don't question the burns and bruises on his inner thighs when he dresses or the crust of vomit that now appears every morning under the toilet seat when they clean the bathroom, his new habit of rejecting offers of wine in favor of tea, how he prefers his meat more rare now. Oh they talk, this he knows, even more so since Alexia set foot on Rockfort after being brought back from Antarctica. It doesn't matter. It's real. She's real. The love they made was real. The life they made is real. Once again, Alexia had entrusted him with a great duty and he would carry it out no matter what. Ashfords embrace difficulty with pride and vigor. He would protect her and their offspring from any that would oppose their family.

Like this intruder skulking the corridor of their private residence. A spy sent to confirm the rumors of Alexia's return? An assassin hired to sever the remaining branches of their family tree? A peon that grew too curious of their employer's sudden isolation? It didn't matter, his rifle's laser is already lined up with their head and he pulls the trigger. His newly gained insomnia worked in his favor. What if he had slept while this encroacher continued to infiltrate their home? What if they managed to breach Alexia's room? What if-

"It seems we have a bit of a rat problem."

He looks up to see the familiar silhouette of Alexia's frame in the far end of the hallway. She takes in the sight with a simple "Tsk" and strides past the crumpled body to approach him. Her hand cups the side of his face, thumb smearing the specks of blood on his cheek. "This stress isn't good for you..." Slender fingers find the soft arc in his abdomen. "... Either of you." He gets lost in her touch, to a place where his head isn't throbbing, his stomach isn't trying to reject dinner and the painted gazes of his predecessors aren't surrounding him.

Sleep deprivation catches up with Alfred and he has to lean against the wall for support. She turns to focus on the body and he watches her dress sweep across the floor to stand over the corpse. A drop of blood and fire covers it within seconds. The servants would take care of the burnt carpet in the morning. In the comfort of each other, they watch the crackling flames of the carcass like a lit fireplace on a chilly night.

* * *

"Soon, brother."

Soothing words barely reach his inflamed mind. He was burning up, drenched in sweat. Hot white pain turned everything to static. In his moments of lucidity, which were growing rarer with the passing hours, he could hear the music box Alexia played at his request. A small comfort in the few occasions his brain was able to process sound.

He hadn't noticed his shirt had been unbuttoned until he felt her hand on his bare skin. The dome of his stomach, mapped with veins, shifted violently from the internal thrashing that impaired both his ability to eat or sleep for the last several days. The lack of rest or nourishment rendered him bed bound.

Alexia remained at his side, monitoring his condition. His waning senses rendered her as a white blur, due to her lab coat. She returned to his bedside once more when she heard him cough up more blood. He tries to speak when she's close enough for him to make out her face.

"'lexia-"

He spits up more blood.

"Save your strength, Alfred." She wipes away the red trail from his jaw. "Don't you want to welcome our child when they arrive?"

Her hand ghosts over the taut flesh, where the life that's been incubating underneath was working its way out, ripping tissue and cooking organs.

He manages a nod and returns his head to the pillow, waiting in silence and pain. Deep down he knows, this isn't a delivery room, this is his deathbed. His sacrifice would be necessary to bring their heir into the world. He would not live to see their family return to its former glory.

But Alexia would still be here. To raise them to their full potential. To teach them all the knowledge the world had to offer. To play the music box when they needed it.

The eighth generation of Ashford entered the world in a rupture of flesh and blood. With the last of his strength, the seventh Lord stroked the newborn's damp head and named her with his final breath.

* * *

"Tanya."

Alexia softly spoke to the fussing bundle wrapped in flame-proof cotton, trying to get her to settle for the family portrait.

Kissing the carapace of a chubby hand when it reaches up to touch their parent's face. She applied a little mental coercion and the child calmed in her arms.

She looked so much like her father.

She returned her gaze forward where the artist she commissioned resumed painting.

Mother and daughter were immortalized on the wall soon after, right next to the frame holding her late twin.


End file.
